Beast Wars Fan Fiction ❯ Machines and Mortals ❯ Chapter 3 ( Chapter 3 )

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December 21st, 2507

I, Jason Matthews, have created yet another one of my journals to all of those survivors out there. All I say is to stay strong and keep your heads high, but this time, I ask you for one thing: Fight back. The Machines will not rest until we are all dead. I say fight until your last breath, the brave way. Anyway, this is not about my recruiting, it’s about my group, my rebellion. Let’s begin…

The soft earth under me warmed with an unknown heat. I sat up, rubbing sleep and crust from my eyes, and looked around. My surroundings were that of a war ground: tattered tents hung limply on metal rods, cinders and ash floated around from deceased campfires, and craters from grenades and cherry bombs from the ambush my rebellion had arranged. MY rebellion sounded strange to me, as if I was actually the leader they, the group, wanted me to be. Sure I was learning, but I knew I wasn’t THAT good.
In his spare time, Turner told me stories of my valiant fights, perilous duels, and excellent strategy skills. I listened intently, learning all I could from those sayings, hoping that some way it would jog my memory. I could tell the others wanted me to remember as well, for Turner was always inquiring me by saying things like ‘Do you remember that?’ or ‘How much do you even know?’, or even my personal favorite ‘How hard did you bump your head?’ That was Turner for you.
Climbing without a sound out of my sleeping bag, I realized I had to pee. I headed behind a tree, and as I went, I heard a rustle. My newly acquired animal instincts kicked in immediately. My hearing zoned in on my surroundings, my vision scanned the woods for any sign of movement, and I readied myself for a surprise attack. When Turner came out behind a bush with a toothbrush in his mouth to ask me a question, I almost nailed him in his exposed ribs.
Turner freaked a bit, but got over it moments later. After I had finished, he and I headed for the campsite. I swear my team was bionic, for the time we got there, the campsite was cleaned of any trace, the army lined up, and the commanders scanning the surrounding area for confirmation that they weren’t being spied on. I was sure that we weren’t, but no one can be too safe in war.
After the reports came in that no trace of any Machine or rebellion member anywhere, the group moved out, me at the head, my commanders behind me, and the group tagging along in small groups of their own behind them. I soon learned (from Turner) that those little groups were actually teams, from Team 1 to Team 33. I was surprised at how many there were, but the feeling passed when I remembered how many there had been originally. Turner told me there were many more, but I think he was just trying to keep my hopes up.